


The Way You Know Me

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, M/M, No actual sex happens, Sex Talk, Sherlock Has Some Insecurities, sorry about that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 13:30:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17940605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Sherlock worries that John's lack of jealousy means John doesn't love him. John explains why he is wrong - in great detail.





	The Way You Know Me

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Так, как знаешь меня ты](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20801330) by [Little_Unicorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Unicorn/pseuds/Little_Unicorn)



> The same translation also available [here](https://ficbook.net/readfic/8661260).

Sherlock wasn't sure how he'd gone from being roped to help John with the shopping to having a total stranger flirt with him, but that was what seemed to have happened, to his great dismay. As if the shopping hadn't been bad enough.

The man, standing very much in Sherlock's personal space and leaning towards him, was attractive enough, tall, dark and fit, but of course, he was not anything Sherlock wanted. He already had his John.

John, however, was nowhere near; he had gone to get the jam they'd forgotten and left Sherlock to stand there guarding their shopping. That meant Sherlock had to deal with his admirer alone. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to do that without being rude, and honestly, he was _trying_ not to be rude on most days, when he happened to remember.

"I'd really like to have your number," the man was saying.

"I. Ah. Taken," he managed, his voice higher than he'd intended.

The man's face fell. "Damn. Of course you are." He sighed, then offered Sherlock a little smile. "Well, can't always win, can you? Go to your sweetheart before someone else tries to steal you away." And with that, he slipped into the crowd.

Sherlock tried to decide how offended he should be for being told he was something to be stolen like an object, when a gentle hand landed on his shoulder.

"Look who's popular," John's soft voice said from behind him. "I thought the bloke would never leave you alone!" He sounded amused, of all things, not jealous or upset because someone had been hitting on his partner.

Sherlock turned around and glared at him.

"Where were you?" he snapped. "You could have just come here and he would have left!"

"I was getting the jam," John said, waving the jar in front of him before sticking it into one of their bags. "You had it under control, it seems."

Sherlock huffed and said nothing more, but all the way back to the flat, he kept thinking of how calm John had been. It didn't seem right. What kind of man wasn't bothered when someone flirted with his partner?

_The kind who doesn't care_ , a smarmy voice offered inside his head.

Sherlock absolutely refused to listen to it.

 

 

Sherlock watched from the living room doorway as John put the groceries away, his movements measured and careful as he unpacked the bags. He didn't ask for Sherlock's help; according to John, Sherlock had a habit of not putting things in the 'right' places. Sherlock didn't see why the tea couldn't be on the same shelf as the beans, but John had opinions. Sugar on one shelf, jam on another, milk and eggs and cheese into the fridge. There was a place for everything in the kitchen.

Where was Sherlock's place, then? Did he belong in the bed they shared? Would it matter to John at all if he ended up in some other bed?

"There. Done," John said, tossing Sherlock a smile as he put the empty bags away. On his way to the living room, he pressed a quick kiss on Sherlock's cheek.

Sherlock couldn't take it anymore.

"You weren't jealous."

John stopped midway to his chair. "Sorry?"

"When that man flirted with me. You weren't jealous."

John glanced at him over his shoulder, blue eyes confused and guileless. "Why would I have been?"

Something in Sherlock's chest constricted. "Oh yes." He tilted his chin up, fingers twitching at his sides. "Why would anyone be jealous when a stranger is hitting on their partner?" He sounded angry, which was much better than hurt, he decided. "Why would it matter that other people are interested in me?"

John turned around, brow furrowed. "Why-? You're really upset about this, aren't you?"

Sherlock glared. "I'm not _upset_." He crossed his arms on his chest. "I'm just wondering if you actually _care_."

John's face twisted. "Sherlock. Hey." He took a step back towards the kitchen. "Of course I care. I just…" He hesitated. "Sherlock, I trust you. I have never, for one moment, doubted that you will be faithful to me."

Sherlock swallowed. He wasn't sure what to say to that.

"I didn't think he was a threat," John continued, a gentle smile spreading across his lips. "I'm not scared of some stranger stealing you away from me because I know you love me. I know _you_ , Sherlock."

"I…" he was still at loss of words. John was right, damn him, but Sherlock felt he had the right to be … not upset, obviously, but bothered.

Something on John's face shifted, his smile turning wicked.

"That man was a nobody," John said. His voice had gotten lower in a way that send a pleasant shiver down Sherlock's spine. "He doesn't _know_ you the way I do."

He took a step closer, then another, close enough that their bodies were almost touching, and Sherlock's breath hitched, his arms falling to his sides. John looked up at him, eyes warm and full of affection.

"He doesn't know how it feels to wake up beside you, when you're warm and soft and still a little slow. He hasn't seen you drink your first cup of coffee in the morning, with your hair sticking up and the lines left from the pillowcase still pink on your cheek. He doesn't know how you are at crime scenes, all sharp edges and danger and untameable power, or when you're in your mind palace and the rest of the world has fallen away."

Sherlock tried to produce a reply, but John was already continuing.

"He doesn't know how it feels to kiss you." He caught Sherlock by the lapels of his jacket and pulled him down, the tips of their noses almost touching. "He doesn't know how your breathing changes when you kiss. He doesn't know that you keep your eyes open until it overwhelms you and you have to close them. He's never heard you moan when you do that."

John's breath was hot against his cheek, and Sherlock shivered. John shifted even closer, his lips almost brushing Sherlock's ear now, and lowered his voice.

"He's never touched you." Sherlock could _hear_ the teasing little smirk. He had a feeling he knew which direction John was taking his speech. "He hasn't seen you touching yourself, those long, gorgeous fingers wrapped around your cock or pushing deep into you."

Sherlock moaned, his breathing picking up. The tip of John's nose ghosted over the shell of his ear.

"He's never had his mouth on you, and he doesn't know how you squirm when your cock is sucked, or how you curse when a tongue pushes into your arse. He doesn't know how your skin tastes."

Whimpering with growing need, Sherlock turned his head, his lips seeking John's, but John held him back, always a hair's breadth away.

"He doesn't know how you writhe when there are three fingers in you and you're desperate for more. He hasn't heard you scream when your prostate is touched again and again until you almost can't stand it and still never want it to stop. He doesn't know how tight you are, and how your body yearns to be filled."

Sherlock closed his eyes and tried to keep breathing. His knees felt weak and sweat was breaking on his skin, and John's voice was like honey, falling sweetly over him.

"He doesn't know how you sound when you're fucked," John whispered. "He's never heard you cry out in pleasure."

The helpless little keen Sherlock let out at that made John laugh gently against his ear.

"He doesn't know how your face looks when you come, or that sometimes you cry."

Sherlock's breathing had gone ragged. "Oh god. John. Please." He opened his eyes and tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling.

John turned to brush his lips against Sherlock's jaw. "He's never heard you beg."

"Oh god," Sherlock repeated.

"He's never reduced you into a sobbing mess of pleasure."

A pained sound escaped Sherlock's lips and his knees gave out, and John caught him and lowered them both to kneel on the floor.

"Just kiss me, John. Please."

John took Sherlock's face between his hands and whispered the next words against his lips. "I'm not jealous, because I know every intimate detail about you, and I know they are all for me, now and always."

"Yes," Sherlock breathed. He could feel his eyes burning.

"He's never had you, and he never will, because you love me, Sherlock Holmes, just as much as I love you."

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, John," he choked out. "Now please, please…"

He felt John's breath across his lips, warm and familiar, and this time, his eyes were already closing when John's mouth claimed his. He clung to John, knowing, as John did, that there was no reason for jealousy, not now, not ever, because there was no one else in the world who could love him better than John Watson.


End file.
